


Fantasiestücke

by wubzee



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Dreams, Fluff, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, and u bet ur ass he uses this to his advantage, belphie as the avatar of sloth is a dreamwalker, i do not care for canon, insert the pretend i do not see it meme in regards to the lilith tripe, this takes place while he's trapped in the attic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wubzee/pseuds/wubzee
Summary: In your dreams, you love him.In his dreams, you love him.
Relationships: Belphegor & Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader, Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Belphegor/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Fantasiestücke

Those weeks turned into months before he’d realized that entering your dreams had become as easy as breathing air. Your affections for him helped and so did his own. Reciting the verse had never felt so easy, had never flowed so wonderfully from his tongue such that it seemed he spoke it directly from his mind.

He got to know a lot more about you through them. Your memories, your fears, your present struggles. He knew them like the back of his hand. As he gets a better grasp on your character and after the conversation you have with him, he visits them less.

But in exchange, he studies you. And through studying you, he learns to manipulate your dreams. To tweak them bit by bit so that they’re centered around _him_. And _you_. And the possibility of _us_.

It gets to the point that _his_ dreams are about you too. However, they’re more like daydreams. Thoughts from his subconscious bleeding in to create landscapes of his own imagination. Fights he thinks the two of you will have. Kisses he hopes the two of you will share. Moments he wants to spend with you, and you alone. Unbothered, hidden, oblivious.

Such pretty little snapshots of shared existence that leave him breathless and wanting. It’s difficult though. To merge the you he sees when he closes his eyes, and the you he sees through your eyes, and the you he sees from behind bars.

They were all undeniably _you_. Yet, there’s a clear distinction. A contrast in your movements, in your speech, and in your actions. Dreams are, after all, obscure figments pieced together to form a mosaic of fleeting emotions and fixations. Nothing can surpass the feelings embedded in these puzzles. In dreams, you are vulnerable. In dreams, you feel things before you can make sense of them.

In dreams, you are honest.

And reality often complicates things. Personal opinions and judgement, apprehension and regret, filter their way into a person’s thoughts. Like worms, they wriggle and are a nuisance, hindering an individual’s capability for self-expression.

He sees it in you. As clear as day. When the wheels in your head turn and split off, spinning around in mazes you construct from your own anxieties. He watches it happen often and it angers him. When you stop yourself mid-sentence, when you hesitate to tell him whatever it is you’d rather keep on the tip of your tongue, he feels restless.

Then of course it’s within reason that he seeks solace in the night, in the quiet of slumber.

Tucked away under your covers or sprawled over a river of textbooks, he finds you. You do not stir as the outline of your silhouette glows beneath him. You do not wake as he descends into your sleep, sinking into the realm beneath the true surface.

The walls warp around him and he takes a step forward. Always forward. He no longer needs to search for you. Like a beacon, your presence calls to him and like a bee to honey, he finds you almost instantly.

Perhaps you feel his presence also. Your body reacts. If it is a pleasant view, you smile to yourself, seemingly satisfied. If it is dark and wretched, your muscles tense, as if unsettled. He wishes you’d realize he means no harm.

This wish slowly turns into reality as your musings shift. Specific fragments of certain happenings get caught in your web of perception. You watch him. A lot.

It’s flattering. How focused you are. How you think blinking might make him disappear. You take his hand in yours, rest against his shoulder, offer him a bite to eat. Mundane sentiments. He treasures them.

You turn him into a mirror. He reflects your fondness. He feels it in the way you respond to him. How he must look with such favor in his expressions.

In your dreams, you love him.

To spite his inability to refrain from waiving the use of his power on you, he cannot do anything about his cravings.

He yearns for your touch, impatient and thinning the line of self-control, he keeps you to himself. Like a poor imitation of the attic holding him captive, he traps you in his arms. He breaths in your scent, a mixture of familiarity and the unknown.

Quite the opposite of his demon instincts, he doesn’t want to cover it. Instead he’d like them to mingle. Yours and his. To birth an entirely new and distinct smell that would serve as proof of your union.

You are fragile. Soft and simultaneously unyielding. It’s maddening really. To teeter on the edge of force and balance on the pinprick of submission. He entertains the notion of a pact.

If you could, would you?

Would you make him bend? Would you discourage him? Would you cause him to lose himself in sensation?

That earnestness and the adoration on your face when he walks in on you is unmatched. The surroundings fade and the floor dissolves, suspended in infinity, the both of you traverse space and time itself. The warmth of your cheek against his palm, the heat of your gaze, and the flame of longing in your grip as your fingers brush against his skin. All beautiful. Entirely encapsulating and mesmerizing in their whole.

Your voice, dripping with tenderness, blends in with his notes of hunger. Your lips meet his and his throat burns. He’s beyond parched, beyond affected. His heart sings and leaps in bounds at your mercy. When you grant him pleasure and let desire flow between the edges of your two figures, tangled together as one, he feels as if he could take flight. Soar into the air and float, carried by only the wind.

In his dreams, you love him.

And when morning comes, it’s desolate. You are not lying beside him. He is not lying beside you. He finds it difficult to meet your eyes the more you visit him atop those winding stairs.

You notice the change in his demeanor.

You do not visit him again.

He waits. Days pass.

.

.

.

You ascend those stairs for a final time and when the enchantment is broken, it’s like he’s seeing you for the very first time. There’s a pounding in his chest, a thrum in his veins, and a weakness in his knees.

He embraces you. You hold him with unwavering assurance.

“Hello, stranger.”

“Hello, my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> belphie and dream manipulation is a concept i will never get over


End file.
